


A Gentle Invitation

by ergi



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, Prequel, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-25 14:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18576775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ergi/pseuds/ergi
Summary: Cassandra has questions. Varric has no intention to answer. Leliana is an expert at not-so-gentle invitations.Or "How did Cassandra manage to capture Varric before the beginning of Dragon Age 2?"





	A Gentle Invitation

The woman was rude. She was also built in a way that meant no complaints. The customers at the Hanged Man knew better than to poke dragons, even when they stood between them and their beer.

"I'm looking for Varric Tethras."

"Never heard of him!" Corff answered and handed Varric his beer.

Instead of going back to his room Varric sat down at a nearby table and picked up the cards someone had left there to go piss.

He was used to messengers and guards asking for him, but this woman was neither. She smelled of weapon oil and salt. Although she had dressed down for Lowtown she was moving like she was used to armour. At the bartender's answer she had narrowed her eyes as if she could sense the lie. Varric raised the gamblers a silver and prepared to lose the round. The drunkard had left behind some terrible cards.

"I need to speak to Varric Tethras. It is about Hawke." She couldn't keep the clipped order from her voice. Used to issuing commands, that voice was.

"Never heard of 'im either," the bartender lied, rubbing his soaked towel over the the glass in his hands. You can't look nervous if you look busy. Varric had taught him that. How he still managed to look nervous was a damned mystery to the dwarf.

"Her!" the woman snapped. "Champion of Kirkwall? Friend of the apostate who blew up the chantry?"

"Oh, is that what all that noise was?"

Varric rolled his eyes. Bartenders. Over-actors the lot of them! 

The woman made a disgusted sound and threw a few coins onto the counter.

"And what does serah want?" the bartender asked. "For that price we have Nevarran wine or Fereldan beer."

"Tell Varric that his presence is required in the Gallows. Immediately, if not sooner." She marched out the door, throwing it shut behind him.

Varric took another sip of his beer, and found the mug empty. Blighted things. Corff had another one ready for him when he got to the bar.

"You heard?"

He nodded.

"You goin'?"

He shrugged. "If I get bored. Not tonight."

Tonight, he had a puzzle to solve. Of all the nugshit in the world what had brought a Seeker of Truth to his door?

Varric had once been young and inexperienced. Naive enough to invest in property in Kirkwall. Where others warehouses had infestations of rats or nugs, his had blood mages.

The Seekers had found him to inform him of his misfortune and dragged him with them to clear out the threat. Because he was a dwarf. Immune to magic. 

That did not mean he was immune to burns or arrows. He was still bleeding when he disappeared into Darktown, grew a beard and sold the warehouses. Varric had learnt what he could about the order, which was little. He did not appreciate knowing nothing about someone who might one day want him dead.

Especially not when that day might be here, and his contacts were as useless as they had been fifteen years ago.

His sources had close to nothing. Seeker Cassandra had come by boat from Orlais, used the name 'Pentaghast' on the travel slip. If true, she was the right hand of the Divine. If not she was the worst spy Varric had had the pleasure to avoid. Seekers busied themselves with Templars and mages. Being a dwarf, he was neither. Since Kirkwall fell he'd made certain not to get involved with either.

She showed up at the Hanged Man at the exact same time the next day, attempting to bribe Corff, then threaten him. When neither worked she tried asking nicely. Not even that could sway Corff's heart. Varric paid for his room in pure silver, always on the date or a day early. The owner knew she would not find a better tenant, and her staff would do nothing to risk her displeasure.

Seeker Pentaghast was furious. Her arguments with the bartender was a perfect distraction from annoying contracts. Each evening Varric found himself in the main room the moment he heard her voice.

He was still laughing when he returned to the contracts. Their looming presence wiped the smile from his face. If someone had warned him of the mountains of paperwork writing a biography would bring, he would have used a pen name. But he had danced to the fiddler, and this was the price he had to pay to tell Hawke's story. It helped that the story was a damned good one.

Halfway through the contracts he realized he was not alone. The air in his room had changed. The scent of something soft and silken added to the smoke and sweat from the main room.

He kept moving his pen against the paper, but did not waste concentration on writing. His ears were seeking out the source of the new smell while his eyes searched for Bianca. She was in her hands and aimed at the stranger by the time he realized his mistake.

Not one intruder.

Three.

Bianca aimed at their leader, a hooded woman standing in the shadows next to the door. The two others hesitated, and he gave them a vicious smile. "Want to see her turn into a pincushion? I suggest that you leave. Pronto."

The woman in Bianca's sight smiled. He felt a movement to his left, but it was too late to do anything about it.

Not three intruders.

Four.

Darkspawn, demons and blood mages, and what would get him in the end was a blighted rogue. 

He spat a curse which would have made for a nice epitaph and tried to draw his dagger without dropping Bianca. The four were used to working together. Either that or going up against Carta and untrained thieves had dulled him. Bianca flew from his hands, his dagger followed her with a deft kick that continued into his stomach, leaving him breathless.

They were quick, he'd give them that. His hands were bound without the knife ever leaving his throat. He made sure to lie completely still so it wouldn't nick him. Rogues used all kinds of interesting poisons. Some had no effects on dwarfs, but he had a suspicion that these people would not make a mistake like that. Not Crows, certainly not Carta and probably not Bards or House of Repose. Nevarran assassins had never been his speciality. But from the Pentaghast downstairs that was the only thing they could be.

The hooded woman locked the door and crouched before him, balanced on her toes in case he attacked. Even he wasn't that stupid. 

"We wish you no harm, master Tethras," she told him, speaking common with a hint of something else. "Only a moment of your time to answer some questions."

"How can I deny such a cordial invitation," Varric answered and spat onto the floor. There was blood in his spittle. And a tooth. Good thing they usually grew back. Surfacer he might be, but he was still a dwarf. "If it's about the Champion, you do know I wrote a book about it?"

"Yes, and we also know it's filled with half-truths and outright lies. We need to know the real story."

"Orlais?" he guessed. His reward was a vicious smile. Her accent was almost gone, but still noticeable. The woman retreated and gave a signal to the others. The knife withdrew and they pulled him to his feet.

It was the chance he had been waiting for. He ran towards the weakest of the four, charging head-first into his stomach like an angry bronto. The man gave a grunt of pain and collapsed.

He had arranged the crates and dwarven casket at the far wall for a situation like this. He sprinted up to get to the loft. Threw himself against the glass. Felt it shatter against his shoulder. Shards bit into his skin, and he fell.

Their leader was quick. She grabbed his boot. Threw him off balance. A female grunt of strain as she found him heavier than expected. He kicked, heard a bark of pain and the hands around his boot loosened for a single instant.

It was all he needed. He twisted and felt the grip give away, dropping him head-first to the ground.

That had not been the plan. To be honest he wasn't sure what he had planned. He was still blinking at the sky when he heard three of them landing next to him.

The hooded one crouched down in front of him.

"Are you going to cooperate now?"

He blinked again, and found himself sitting against the wall of the Hanged Man. His attackers were talking, but their voices were too low to catch.

"He's back," someone said, and hands dragged him to stand. He did, for a few steps, before he stumbled over the rope binding his feet. Not so tight he couldn't walk, but enough to make it impossible to run.

"Master Tethras," the hooded figure chided. "Do you truly want to make even more trouble for yourself?"

"You started," he muttered, and found his mouth oddly numb.

She put an arm under his to support him. He was swaying. "We are bringing you to the Gallows. Someone needs to check your head."

Since putting one foot in front of the other was difficult at present, he did not try to run. He could only hope Cullen would see him. They had worked together these last months to rebuild Kirkwall. Varric with Carta connections and coin, Cullen with Templars and treaties. If he was lucky one of the city guards would tell Aveline. Most of them liked him. 

Well, those who hadn't lost wages to him in Wicked Grace liked him. Which did narrow it down quite drastically. Still, he didn't think they wanted him dead, which put them in the 'friendship' category as far as he cared.

They took the lock picks he was currently using to practice the craft. Nimble fingers helped every crossbowman, and after the mess of the last years he wanted his fingers in perfect shape. Sebastian had all but promised to invade. He would be welcomed with a crossbow bolt to the face when he tried. Varric had promised him as much.

His guards helped him into a chair and made him wait for a healer. A nervous young man Varric recognized from the rebellion. Either a captured apostate or a mage too frightened to run. Well trained in the arts of healing, but nowhere near Anders' skill.

His dwarven blood worked against him. The healer did what he could but his head was still aching like it had been trampled by an ogre. The man stuttered an apology that Varric waved away. 

"I've had worse from drinking that shit they served at the Hanged Man."

The hooded woman stayed while he was healed, leaned against the far wall to study him in silence. The moment the healer finished with him she gestured towards the door. Two soldiers in unknown uniforms waited. They dragged him through a corridor and threw him into a rather elegant chair. One he could be chained to, should they see the need.

He shook his head and pressed his fingers against his forehead. A moment or so later his brain seemed to fall back into place. "I've had gentler invitations."

The Pentaghast stepped out of the shadows. She was holding a copy of 'The Tale of the Champion' in her right hand, and looked ready to punch him with it. He hoped he could avoid that. He liked his brain where it was, and that edition was leather bound.

"I am Cassandra Pentaghast, seeker of the Chantry."

"And just what are you seeking?"

"The Champion."

"Which one?" He made a theatre out of studying his fingernails. Blood under one of them, probably from the impact with the ground. It wouldn't rot and fall off thanks to the healer, and didn't hurt at all compared to his head.

"You know exactly why I'm here!" Her sword was against his throat the next moment. So they were back at that bit of foolery. He knew they didn't want to kill him, and she knew he was unarmed. Unnecessary posturing. "Time to start talking, dwarf. They tell me you're good at it."

He flinched when she stabbed the book. More from professional pride than fear. Maker blast it, there was no need to harm innocent literature. If she needed to stab anything, he had a crate of unsold 'The Dasher's Men' back at the Hanged Man.

Varric picked up the book and studied it, pretending to look at the dagger now piercing half of it. It was an early edition, maybe even first. The pages were pristine, protected by a spell few could afford. But the Divine had an unlimited supply of mages. 

He chuckled to himself. He was in such deep shit.

"What do you want to know?"


End file.
